Not the Usual Kind
by zemarha
Summary: FutureFic. Rory's life is not quite going as planned. The realization that she may have never really gotten over one Jess Mariano isn't helping. Tipsy phone calls to ex-lovers generally don't help either, but when did that ever stop anyone?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Not the Usual Kind

Summary: FutureFic. Rory's developed a few vices. Her life's not quite going as planned, and the realization that she may have never really gotten over Jess doesn't really help. Tipsy phone calls to ex-lovers generally don't help either, but when did that ever stop anyone?

A/N: I miss writing. And I miss Rory and Jess. This is my attempt to solve those problems- just a quick story, unedited and unpretentious. Unplanned. Hopefully it will stir my muses and inspire something greater.

* * *

Rory Gilmore never thought she'd end up an author. She never saw herself in the world of fiction- no, she had always had grand plans of reporting and journalism. But somehow, despite her extensive editing experience and work as a reporter on a campaign trail, she'd found herself writing fiction, against her better judgment. Yearning to quell her own loneliness by writing something achingly beautiful and true and hopelessly romantic. An epic love story, of all things.

She'd lie awake at night playing through scenes in her mind, acting them out as though they were her own true memories, not an imagined script or a world of her own making. The story simply came to her, the thoughts and emotions reverberating in her soul.

She had imagined herself as the heroine since the beginning, but she wasn't sure exactly when Jess Mariano became her leading man. The dark hair came first; the troubled past followed closely behind. The twisted lips and the crooked smile followed quickly. The rough, gravelly voice was a given. Suddenly, her character was carrying paperback novels in his back pocket and smoking on his breaks. She'd been imagining the scene where her heroine runs into her mystery man for the second time, in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store, when suddenly she recognized the look in his smoldering eyes- the same look she'd seen so many times on Jess's face.

Snap, out of the fiction and back into her own mind. Because that had to mean something, right? Writing your ex-lover into what you had hoped would be the next epic love story, that wasn't normal, was it? And suddenly she can't ignore the fact that she misses him. Misses his company, misses his warmth, misses his lips. She wants him, intellectually and physically. Regrets the fact that they'd never taken it further, that he'd left before she'd had the chance to make love to him.

Oh, right. He left her. Dammit, how is it that she was always forgetting that? Just blindly missing him, and not remembering how he'd hurt her? Not very considerate of him. Not very considerate at all.

And now it is 3 a.m. and she is not only feeling lonely and pitiful, she is also confused and bitter. Not a good combination for one who can't sleep. She desperately wants a cup of coffee (that ever-comforting elixir), but she knows it will do nothing for her insomnia. So she makes her way into the kitchen and settles for hot chocolate. And tips a little alcohol in there, too. Just to help her get some sleep, she tells herself, not something she's been making a habit of or anything.

She's gotten good at lying to herself. It's easy to ignore the looks at cocktail parties when she's way ahead of everyone else and showing no signs of slowing down. Easy to tell herself that she's young and a professional and that the fancy drinks are just part of the game. Easy to pour herself a little something when she can't sleep at night (which is more often than not, and she's too busy to figure out what demons are keeping her up in the first place. Easier to just take a stab at self-medication.) After all, she's ivy league-educated and smart and sophisticated and she can handle her own life, right?

Well, she's sure going to try. Everyone else be damned. And come on, who doesn't have a few vices?

She's thinking too much again. And her mug of hot chocolate is staying level, but the glass bottle beside it is definitely getting emptier. Something in the back of her head is chiming in, annoyingly, that this is pathetic. And stupid. And not where Rory Gilmore was ever supposed to end up. This isn't her. This isn't her.

And then she's hearing that rough, sandpaper voice again- _"This isn't you,"_ playing on repeat in her head, and it won't go away even though she's trying to drown it out with lyrics from the last Clash song she heard.

But dammit, the Clash makes her think of him too, and it's all becoming too much (really, when are things _not_ too much for her these days?). She's driving herself crazy and Lorelai's gone, and she's maybe had more to drink that she had intended, and suddenly she can't be alone with herself anymore.

Cell phone is right there on the table. Pick it up, dial, wait. Huh. Didn't realize she had the number memorized. But it's ringing now, and sure enough, sandpaper-gravel answers. More sandpaper-y than she remembers. But it is four in the morning, now, isn't it?

Well, sandpaper tells her it is anyway. Angrily, she might add.

"Jess."

He stops ranting about the god-forsaken time pretty quick. Apparently he doesn't forget voices so easily, either.

"You shouldn't pick up the phone so angry. What if it was an emergency?" she says.

Throat clears. Then, "Is it?"

"Not the usual kind."

"Rory..."

"I feel like I'm supposed to say something like 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called'. And maybe I shouldn't have, but fuck that. I'm not sorry. I'm tired and I can never sleep and you're haunting my novel and you never told me why you left, and I'm tired of feeling seventeen forever."

"Rory."

"Don't you think you owe me an explanation? Didn't you ever think that? Isn't that what a normal human being would think? You can't just go around breaking hearts and-"

"_Rory_."

She stops. Feels foolish, but doesn't hang up. Waits. Shouldn't be hard, she's been waiting for so long already.

Except he doesn't really have a great response. He wasn't expecting this, it's late, his mind is fuzzy and hearing her voice so angry, directed straight at him at full-force, is unsettling in the extreme. Still silence from her end though, so:

"Maybe- maybe we should pick this up in the morning?" he offers.

Short exhale on her part- an exasperated sigh. Words muttered under her breath- "I'm an idiot." Is that what she said?

"Avoidance is just a softer version of abandonment. Never mind, Jess. Just forget it."

And then she really does hang up.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: That first chapter kind of just wrote itself... and surprisingly, I'm happy with it (except for the weird changes in tenses before it settles on present, but oh well). Hopefully, this chapter will work out as well as the first. Feedback appreciated! :)

* * *

Morning is pouring through her window, annoying and insistent, and Rory Gilmore can just tell it is going to be a headache-filled day. Groaning and rolling over, she tries to find sleep again, but that headache that's already started refuses to let her go.

_Fine_, she thinks, _be that way_. She is still the petulant seven-year-old sometimes. Yawning, she reaches for her phone to check the time. Something familiar about that phone... She cringes. It's already well past noon.

Four new voicemails and a handful of missed calls. All from her publisher, of course. She is way past deadline on the first draft of her novel and has been avoiding these calls for weeks. Can they blame her, really? How can it possibly be her fault that her characters are revolting on her and turning into ex-boyfriends?

Speaking of ex-boyfriends... something on the edge of her consciousness... Fuck. Did she really call Jess last night? Fuck! _It was a dream, it was a dream, it HAD to have been a dream..._ But she looks at her missed calls more closely, and sure enough, there's the number with the Philadelphia zip code. Funny how he always calls her back now, in these hung-over, painful mornings, but he never could seem to when she actually wanted to hear from him.

A voicemail, too. She should've figured. Responsible, mature Jess. Gotta leave some evidence that he's doing so well, right? Can't just let her ignore him...

_"Rory. (Pause.) I don't- (sigh). Don't know if you remember, but you called me again last night. I'm not mad or anything, I just... you didn't sound so good. Call me when you get this, okay? Please. Call me."_

Press seven to delete this message. No, she would NOT like to undelete...

Okay. Deep breath. Forget about the phone calls; forget about the deadlines. Focus on finding some aspirin, focus on getting to the shower. That fledgling headache is officially all grown-up now and it is _killing_ her.

She slips into the shower, finding some small amount of comfort in the steaming water. The aspirin's starting to kick in, too, and she can feel herself relaxing. She'll find something to drink as soon as she finishes showering, and she'll feel as good as new.

She should really stop calling him. She'd deleted his number out of her phone in a moment of clearer thinking, but obviously that hadn't done a lot of good... They'd been getting more frequent, too. And less coherent, if she remembers correctly. She tries not to think about it, but she knows he's getting worried. Each message sounds a little more urgent than the last, each word infused with a little more earnest concern. She almost feels bad for him.

Almost. Because who is he, to be concerned about poor Rory? He has no right to be worried or anxious or relieved or happy, when it comes to her. Since when is she his problem? Just because they used to know each other? Just because he has his life together now and hers is maybe coming apart at the seams?

Dammit. She's shaking now and the water's coming down cold. She's uncomfortable and somehow it feels like his fault.

Making her way to the kitchen in her robe, she resolves not to call him again. _Don't need to call him back today, because I won't be calling him again tonight. Not any night. Done with that, _she thinks. It doesn't matter that she's used that logic countless times before. She believes it this time. And she's finally found that drink she was looking for.

She was right; it does make her feel a little like new.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, she doesn't call him that night, or the next night, or the night after that. It may have more to do with the double-dose of Benadryl that she's started taking with her usual nightcap, but she likes to think that maybe it's because she's finally figuring things out for herself.

Yeah, right. Staying in bed till noon, wearing the same clothes for days on end, and surviving on coffee and alcohol (plus or minus the occasional pop-tart), is hardly figuring things out. The blinds haven't been opened in weeks; her tiny apartment is quickly approaching unlivable. And her publisher keeps calling. She keeps not answering. On the bright side, however, she is now deeply engrossed in several daytime soaps.

Wait, that's the bright side? _Sad, Rory, that's just sad. _Her annoying inner voice is kicking in. It's invariably the voice of one of Stars Hollow's residents- today it's Lane.

She hasn't spoken to Lane in ages. That's her fault, mostly. Despite juggling the twins, two daughters, and a band, Lane manages to call often enough. Rory just stopped returning the calls after a while. She thinks Lane understands (better than Jess does, anyway) that she needs some space. Needs some time.

Except how much time has it actually been? How much time is too much time? Rory's about to start counting the months out, then realizes she doesn't want to know. Some part of her is aware that it's been too long, that she's not making any progress, and that if she keeps on this course things will end badly.

The other part of her ignores those thoughts. No need to dwell on depressing life-issues, especially since _Days of Our Lives_ is finally back from commercial, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I added a tiny bit to Chapter 2; nothing supremely important, but I recommend going back and reading it if you're interested. Enjoy that and Chapter 3!

* * *

Rory is dreaming. She's lying down in a meadow of the softest golden grass, gazing up at the clouds through tree branches. There's a yellow bird hopping between trees, flying with purpose, and she thinks she is supposed to follow him, that he has something to show her; but the grass is too soft and her limbs are so heavy and she's really too comfortable to get up. There's a woodpecker in one of the trees, pecking insistently at the trunk. _Tap, tap, tap; tap tap tap._ The yellow bird is still darting about restlessly, but the focus is shifting to the tapping...

Rory wakes up by degrees. It feels early; her body is used to sleeping for many more hours yet; but there's sunlight trying to force its way around her curtains and it's telling her otherwise. Still, she is groggy and annoyed- and that tapping is still there, despite the birds being gone. Really, it's more of a banging than a tapping now. God, _who_ is banging at her door this early in the morning- afternoon- whatever!

Whoever it is, clearly they're not taking no for an answer. Shit, it's her publisher, isn't it? This is _not_ good; they've never paid her house calls before! She attempts to disentangle from the sheets and pull a robe on at the same time- not very gracefully, she might add.

Wait, or is it the cops? _Rory, honestly, why would it be the cops?_ She reminds herself that other than not taking out the trash for the past three weeks, she hasn't done anything wrong. Certainly nothing illegal.

Still bleary-eyed and confused, she pulls open the door.

Fuck. Jess. Is he really standing there right now? Guess she wasn't so far off with the cops thing...

She hasn't seen him in almost a year. He looks very much the same, except his eyes don't usually look so surprised.

"Rory." His voice cracks almost imperceptibly on the second half of her name. The sight of her has thrown him completely off track- he wasn't expecting the gaunt face with dark circles under the eyes or the matted, tangled hair; and god, she's lost so much weight. And did she really just wake up? It's one o'clock in the afternoon for chrissakes.

"How did you get my address?" she demands, her bleary eyes flashing.

"I- your publisher. I asked as a favor; he knows Truncheon-"

"You shouldn't have." And then she's shutting the door on him.

"Rory- wait! You stopped calling; you didn't think I'd get worried?" He's pushing his way past her, stepping uninvited into her apartment.

"I wasn't thinking about you. Shocking, I know, the world not revolving around you."

"All of a sudden, I stop hearing from you- you can't do that to people. _No one's_ heard from you. God, anything could've happened; you could've..." He trails off and takes a deep breath, "I needed to see that you were okay."

She gives him a short laugh. "What, you thought I'd offed myself? Thought you'd find me with wrists slit, sitting in a tub full of pink bathwater?"

His winces, but tries to play it off, "A little dramatic, don't you think?"

She gives him a short laugh. "I would never do something like that."

He looks at her for a moment before asking quietly "Is it so impossible?"

Her chin tilts up defiantly and her eyes flash fire, but she doesn't answer his question.

After a moment, she turns around, walking down the short hallway.

"Still with the living," she says over her shoulder.

He follows her into the kitchen. She didn't explicitly tell him to leave, he reasons.

She's reaching into a cupboard, pulling down a glass, and says without turning, "I'm fine, Jess. You can go now."

Huh. Pretty sure that counts as explicit, but he's not leaving anyway. He had guessed things weren't going so great for her, but this is so much worse than he had imagined. How can he leave after seeing her like this?

He decides to go for a gentle but direct approach. "You're not fine, Rory."

She turns to face him, drink in hand. "Yeah. Because you've always been so perfect yourself."

"No, I haven't. But this is crazy, Rory. How long have you been living like this?"

"Like _what_, Jess? Y'know what, it doesn't matter anyway. Whatever you think is going on, you're wrong. You can't just waltz in and fix things so you can feel the hero. What did you think, you could come in here and save me from myself and that that would magically make up for all the years you spent being an asshole to everyone in your life? I didn't _ask_ for your help, and I will never need you to make things better for me. I'm doing _fine_." She's furious now. But instead of scaring him off, he spits fire right back at her.

"You consider this 'fine', Rory? Pouring yourself a drink every five minutes, wasting your days in bed or in front of the TV?" Shit, the gentle approach has gone completely out the window, hasn't it? "Your place is beyond a mess, you look like hell, and you've clearly lost all touch with reality. That's what you consider 'fine'? If Lorelai could see-"

She cuts him off with a glass hurled at his head. Her aim's never been too good, and it shatters against the wall next to him, but not for lack of trying.

"_Fuck_ you, Jess! Get _out!_" she screams. She's shaking and there are tears in her eyes and he knows he's gone too far, but he's still angry.

He's angrier than he's let himself get in years. She pushed his buttons and he let himself get dragged into an argument that was the very worst possible way to approach this. Dammit, that did not go as planned. Was it salvageable? Maybe. Probably not. But he doesn't want to talk to her anymore anyway.

So he turns around and stalks off toward the exit, as angry at himself for falling back into his immature self as he is at her. But he pauses halfway out the door, calling back to the broken, seething girl still standing in the kitchen:

"You know this isn't over."

The door closes with a resounding thud as Rory sinks to the floor.

* * *

A/N 2: Some actual RJ interaction for all of you who had been patiently waiting! :) I'd love to hear your feedback on this chapter- things got kinda intense, and I hope I didn't overdo it. Also, any thoughts on the pacing of the story so far would be much appreciated- is it moving too fast? Too slow? Lemme know what you think. -Z


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I know it's been forever- sorry about that! Life got crazy with finishing up school, moving to a new city, and starting a new job. But this story's been at the back of my mind the whole time, and I think it's got at least a few chapters in it yet. Fingers crossed, I won't leave anyone hanging! -Z

* * *

Dammit, another dead end. Jess had been on the phone all day, trying to piece together what parts of Rory's life he'd missed over the past year- because clearly, he'd missed quite a bit. Last he had heard, she'd been doing okay. Not great, but holding it together. She was working on a new novel while finishing up the book tour for her last, and from what he'd heard through the publishing circuit, it had been going well. The tour ended, and he had assumed she was doing what most writers did- sequestering away to finish the next.

Then the phone calls had started. Really, there were only a handful of them. The first must've been over a month ago- a late night call in which she's said something about wanting to catch up, to see how he was doing... and yeah, looking back, maybe she had sounded a little tipsy then, too. It was a quick conversation; she had actually apologized for calling so late, and that was it. He hadn't called her back.

The next few calls were equally benign; granted, all were made past the appropriate times that the rules of etiquette dictated for telephone conversations, but he didn't read too much into that. Maybe he should've. The Rory he'd known had always been so worried about breaking the rules. Even the small ones.

The calls kept getting later though, and the last few had been more frequent than usual. She'd sounded more and more distressed with each; less linear, more bitter. A little frayed at the edges. Something in her voice with the last had struck him as startlingly cynical and tinged with desperation.

It worried him. Yes, they hadn't really been in each other's lives for a while now, and no, it probably shouldn't have been his concern. But given their past and the connection that they'd shared all those years ago in that unreal, sleepy little town that was Stars Hollow, he'd probably always care.

And yeah, what she'd said about him wanting to make things right and wanting to feel redeemed was probably true, too. What had she said? She definitely hadn't sugarcoated it... something about him being an asshole to everyone in his life for so many years? It made him cringe just to think about it.

But even through all of that, even through him fucking up his life at seventeen, she'd been there for him. And eventually served as the impetus for him to be better. The least he could do was be there for her when she needed the same, right? Didn't he owe her that?

He'd decided he had. But after that cluster of an encounter in her hellhole of an apartment, he was kind of at a loss. So he'd spent the better part of the day trying to find a little context on her life.

Jess had started with Luke. That phone call was the easiest, because he'd always been pretty good about keeping in touch with him. But it was also the hardest in some ways. His uncle wasn't quite the same person he had been either.

_ "Luke's diner."_

_ "Hey, Luke. It's Jess."_

_ "Jess. Hey, how's it going?"_

_ "Going okay. You got a minute?"_

_ "Yeah, sure, everything okay?"_

_ "Yeah, everything's fine... how've you been?"_

_ "Doing okay, keeping busy with the diner, you know. Same old."_

_ "Yeah. Listen... I know you said you hadn't heard from Rory recently, when I asked you the other day..."_

_ "Yeah, no. Haven't heard from her."_

_ "I, uh, I actually managed to track her down since then. Thing is, she didn't... she didn't look so good."_

_ "Hm."_

_ "...Do you know what's been going on with her? How she's been doing?"_

_ "Sounds like you know more than I do."_

_ "Luke... look, I'm worried about her. I think she's in a really bad place, and I'm not sure if anyone's been looking out for her. I think she could use some help."_

_ "Look, Jess. It's been a tough year for everyone. Rory's a strong kid; I'm sure she'll get through it and be fine in the end. I... I haven't really been in her life much since the funeral."_

_ "Luke..."_

_ "It's been hard, Jess. You know I'm not much of a talker, and I'd rather not get into it now. To be honest, I do worry about Rory sometimes. But seeing her... it just makes things harder. She'll find her way, though. She's got her dad, and her grandparents, and Lane. If I didn't think she'd be okay, you know I would do something. If I were you, I wouldn't worry too much about it."_

It had been an unproductive conversation, to say the least. He had managed to get Lane's current phone number out of it, as well as Christopher's (Lord knows why Luke had that one, but Jess would take anything he could get). And he understood where Luke was coming from, he really did. Lorelai's death had taken its toll on everyone. Especially Luke. They'd finally gotten married, and just two months after the honeymoon, she was gone.

Luke had looked haunted for months after that. It was harder still because he'd been the one driving. Something like that, you don't ever really get over it. Maybe learn to live with that all-consuming ache, and put on a brave face, but it couldn't possibly ever go away.

Things like that happen, and it just makes you wonder. How many car accidents happen every day? Jess himself had been backed up in traffic at least twice this week alone, behind some three-car pileup or another. But it's never supposed to happen to you. When you finally drive by the point of collision, it's just empty cars and shattered glass; men in uniform cleaning it all up. The resolution is imminent- roads will be clear again in a few hours; the most you think about it is just to imagine a vague ambulance taking the injured to a hospital.

You don't think about the deaths. You don't think about the people being real, or God forbid, one of your own.

But that shit's happening to someone. In this case it was Lorelai. And like waves rippling out, it in turn engulfed Rory and Luke and Emily and Richard, and the entire town of Stars Hollow.

Luke had actually done an admirable job of picking up the pieces, once the initial shock began to pass. He eventually reopened the diner; moved back into the space above it; sold the Jeep and the house and tried to remember that he wasn't the one who died. It certainly felt like it some days, though.

Jess could imagine that seeing Rory would only make those wounds hurt deeper; would only bring that pain to the surface again. He could imagine that it might be too much to bear, and enough to send him under that dark, oppressing weight of grief again. Jess didn't blame him, really, for shutting her out. Rory had probably made it very easy for him to. Maybe he'd even called once or twice; checked in on her. She'd probably been cordial but curt and never encouraged anything more. It was probably natural and unintentional, their parting ways and suddenly leading separate lives.

But Jess had been secretly hoping that his uncle wouldn't let that happen. Luke had always been so much like a father to Rory that thinking of him breaking their tie was painful to comprehend. Painful, but apparently true. Jess had called hoping to hear good news, but life doesn't usually work out in best-case scenarios, does it?

* * *

The rest of the day hadn't gone much better. It had amounted to a failed phone call to Christopher (_Your call cannot be completed as dialed, please hang up and try again_), a rushed conversation with Lane (_I don't know Jess; I'm sure she just needs some time. You know how close they were. She's not going to be perfect all of a sudden. ...No, I haven't talked to her in a while, but I've been busy with the kids and the band, and she's been off writing books. ...Jess, It's nice that you're so concerned, but I think it's a little unnecessary_). Unnecessary. Right. Jess couldn't believe how cavalier a stance everyone was taking, given what he'd seen last week. Rory must've been putting on a better show with them than she had been with him.

"Jess? You coming to bed?"

His musings are interrupted by the slender, petite woman standing in the doorframe to his study.

"Hey, Emma. Yeah, just need to make one more phone call," he replies with a yawn.  
"Who were you talking to?" she asks conversationally.

"Just..." an old friend? An acquaintance? "Someone I used to know," he shrugs.

"Was it Rory again? How's she doing?"

He'd forgotten he'd told her about Rory. It was after one of the late night calls; Emma had been over, and the phone had woken her. She'd been surprisingly understanding about the whole thing; Em had lost her own father when she was eighteen, and she could definitely relate to this girl she'd never met. It was actually one of the things Jess loved about her- her ability to understand people and empathize with them. She was one of the kindest people Jess had ever met.

"No; it wasn't Rory. Actually, it was just one of her old friends. I was hoping she'd seen her recently, or at least talked to her."

"No luck?"

"No."

She walks over to his chair and kisses him on the head. "Hey. Be careful, okay? I know you just want to help her... but it sounds like a lot to take on, especially if there isn't anyone else in her life right now. Think about yourself a little, too, okay?"

He smiles. "Em. Don't worry about me. I just... I feel like I owe her, you know? It's an impossibly hard time for her, and no one's there."

"Yeah. I get it... and I wish I'd had someone like you when I was going through it, too. If I can ever help in any way..."

Jess nods. "Sure. I've got one more call to make tonight, then I'll be done."

One more call. Unfortunately, it's to Luke again, and it means bringing up the Gilmore name once more. But Jess just thought of two people who were bound to still be in touch with Rory- they weren't really the type of people you could shut out.

"Hey, Luke. It's me again. Do you still have the number for Rory's grandparents?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jesus, had he really talked himself into a Friday night dinner with the Gilmores? Judging by the imposing columns and immaculate rosebushes lining the circle drive, that would be a yes. Maybe the more important question is, why the _hell_ had he talked himself into dinner with the Gilmores?

Jess is sitting in the driver's seat of his two-door, palms sweating (_seriously, palms sweating? Pull it together, Mariano!),_ in a blazer and slacks. Essentially the same outfit he'd worn to Truncheon's last book release, except the t-shirt has been swapped for a button-down tonight. _You're a grown man, for godssake, get out of the car! You can_not_ be hiding from someone's grandmother!_

Okay, but this isn't just _any_ grandmother. This is Emily Gilmore. She's struck fear into the hearts of stronger men than he. And Jess was never one to underestimate the enemy. He prefers to be at the ready, on the lookout for an ambush and prepared for a fight.

Jess shakes his head at himself. His inner dialogue is starting to get ridiculous. It isn't a freakin' war; there will be no bloodshed tonight.

Well. Hopefully, anyway.

Although maybe it would be helpful to review a quick gameplan... After all, there are no other cars in the driveway yet, so he's clearly beat Rory here anyway. And does he really want to prolong the alone time with Emily and Richard? That's a resounding no, especially given the last time they did this.

At least he doesn't have a black eye this time.

Right. So. The object of tonight's mission. To make contact with Rory, for better or for worse. She'd been stonewalling him. Ignoring his calls, not returning the messages, and even going so far as to instruct her doorman not to let him through. Somehow, the lengths she's gone to to keep him out scare him more than anything else he's seen of her so far. Like maybe things are even worse than he knows. Is that even possible?

Regardless, his plea to Emily had been that he needs to see with his own eyes that Rory's okay. He had relayed his side of the story to her (leaving out the sordid details of their one encounter) and had promptly been ridiculed by the senior Gilmore. Which wasn't entirely surprising. What was surprising was how thoroughly sold Emily and Richard were on Rory's being "fine" and "adjusting well, given the circumstances". They were the only two people Rory had seen in the past few months, and Jess guessed it was because they were the only ones who'd truly worry if she just disappeared. She was smart enough to make an occasional appearance with them and keep up the pretense of leading a normal life.

Emily and Richard hadn't been entirely helpful to Jess, aside from providing the setting for Encounter Number Two.

And that is why he's here tonight. To see her in action, to let her know that he knows she's faking, and to maybe break through the façade she's been putting on. To get through the deceit and the anger and to a place where maybe she'll let him help her.

Yeah. Something like that. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst, isn't that what they say?

Deep breath, open the door handle, make your way up the front steps. Try to keep your hand from shaking as you ring the doorbell.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

"Jess. How nice that you could join us tonight," Emily greets, in a voice that clearly says otherwise. They're standing in the foyer (_Note to self, Mariano, avoid houses with 'foyers' at all costs in the future_), and Jess is reminded once again just how good Emily is at saying one thing while conveying the complete opposite. Oh, and at making people feel unwelcome without ever being impolite about it. She's a woman of many skills, that Emily Gilmore.

Just gonna have to grit your teeth and bear it, right? Steeling himself, he looks her in the eye.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gilmore. Glad to be here." He's learned a thing or two about rubbing shoulders with the self-entitled elite over the last few years. Gotta treat them like equals, tuck the sarcasm away, and play it straight. Being overly nice would get you nowhere, but acting like a punk-ass would get you even less.

They're passing the foyer stage of the evening (thank god) and moving on to drinks.

Richard makes his first appearance for the night, announcing as he steps in, "Well. You are not Rory." Well-spotted, Mr. Gilmore.

"No sir. Jess Mariano. We had the pleasure of meeting several years ago," Jess says, extending a hand in the customary greeting.  
"Ah. Yes, I remember. Surly teenager with a propensity for pugilism, correct?"

Okay, here's the tricky part Jess- gotta break out the winsome smile. Not an easy feat, but he manages to accomplish something close to a congenial expression. "Unfortunately, I'm guilty as charged. I think you'll find I've passed through my Neal Cassady years no worse for the wear though."

Richard appears to accept that answer without judgment, and Jess moves on to phase two.

"Thank you for having me tonight, Mr. Gilmore. I considered bringing flowers, but I thought this might suit your tastes better." Jess hands a small, hardcover book over to the elder Gilmore, who accepts it, though somewhat perplexed.

" '_Grand Boulevard_, a novella by Tom Sheppard.' I didn't realize Sheppard had written another book."

"Well, technically, he hasn't, sir. This is the follow up to his debut novel; it's set to be released next week. Tom's a friend of mine though, and we were lucky enough to sign him with Truncheon Books, so I have a few forward copies..."

"Really! After the reception his first piece received, that is an accomplishment for your publishing house indeed. I look forward to reading this. And, I might add, to casually mentioning to the gentlemen at the club that I managed to obtain an advance copy," he added with a conspiratorial grin.

Perfect. Jess has managed to get on Richard's good side, which was his intention to begin with. Emily was more than a lost cause, and Jess would need anything close to an ally that he could get tonight. And Lord knows Rory would _not_ be filling that role.

Emily and Richard value formalities and keeping up appearances far too much to bring up the reason why Jess is actually in attendance tonight; Jess, for his part, is content to discuss publications and literature, light politics, and society events until Rory arrives.

Speaking of the honored guest, the young Miss Gilmore is now a full forty-five minutes late. But Jess won't start pointing such things out until _after_ she shows up. The goal isn't to convince the grandparents that something's wrong; the point is to convince Rory.

Might be easier said than done. But Jess has never been one to back down from a battle.

* * *

Rory finally shows at a quarter past seven. Emily is clearly annoyed; her table is always ready at exactly seven o'clock, and for once the maid managed it on time, even. But it's not all that often than she gets to see her granddaughter (once every month or two, if she's lucky), so she puts her displeasure aside. Besides, she's feeling a little guilty about the surprise extra guest; Rory will not be pleased.

Jess sees her before she sees him. She's handing her coat off and apologizing again to Emily, and the first thing Jess notices is how her careful choice of clothes- some sort of layered, flowing dress, paired with a cardigan- does an admirable job of disguising her too thin frame. Her makeup is just as painstakingly done; he wonders how much concealer it took to erase the purple-bruised smudges from beneath her eyes.

No wonder she was late. Deception certainly takes time, after all.

She stops cold when she finally sees him, and despite the carefully applied color, her face pales a little. Emily notices and jumps in-

"Rory, did I mention Jess would be joining us for dinner? He had some business in town and mentioned that you two had been planning to get together anyway."

Rory manages to suppress a snort, but just barely. Planning to get together? She supposes that a threat of "this isn't over" _might_ imply a future meeting, but really? He'd stooped so low as to invite himself to dinner with the Gilmores?

_He must really care,_ the thought comes unbidden into Rory's mind. _Or really has something to prove, _the more conscious part of her psyche replies.

Okay, but just gotta play it cool. The whole point of these ridiculous dinners is to keep the grandparents happy and off her back. A Jess-induced fiery breakdown isn't going to accomplish anything.

So she reins in her anger and smiles politely, "No, you didn't mention it. It's nice to see you, Jess."

Hah. He almost believes her. He has to hand it to her- she does an unbelievably good job keeping up appearances.

But he's always known how to push her buttons.

* * *

They sit down to dinner and Rory's already two and a half drinks in to the evening, though no one seems to really notice except Jess. Things seem surprisingly normal, for the moment. Richard is telling Rory about Jess's "thoughtful gift," which of course sparks unending irritation in Rory, but she manages to keep her neutral expression in place.

"It's the yet-to-be-released work by Tom Sheppard. I must admit, I am itching to start reading it."

"Hopefully it won't disappoint, Grandpa."

"Oh no, I'm sure it won't. If it's anything like the first, than I daresay that would be impossible. What did you think of that ending, Rory? The man certainly knows how to twist a plot, doesn't he?"

"Um, yeah... definitely," she replies.

"But I'm not sure I agreed with the final piece- was it really necessary to be so dramatic? I feel he may have overdone it just a tiny bit."

"I- uh, actually haven't read it, Grandpa. I'm not really familiar with Tom Sheppard," Rory finally admits, a little uncomfortably.

"Not familiar with Tom Sheppard? I highly doubt that. You _must _have read _The Paradigm_. It's been on the bestseller list for weeks, and there's even talk of a Pulitzer. You couldn't have missed it."

"No, Grandpa, I haven't read it." Her discomfort is quickly joined by irritation.

"Well, what have you been reading then?" he questions.

"Yes, Rory, what have you been reading? You've always been such an avid book lover and they do say writers are the most voracious readers of them all," Jess chimes in.

Rory tosses him an angry glare, then manages, "I- I tend to stop reading other authors while I'm writing. Helps me to keep my own voice clear."

Jess returns her glare with an intense, penetrating look of his own.

He follows it with, "So how is the new novel coming?"

Emily picks up this topic of conversation enthusiastically, "Yes, Rory, tell us all about it!"

But Rory can't talk about her novel without thinking of deep, chocolate brown eyes and smoke-and-soap scented clothes, and that is absolutely _not_ an option with those same eyes staring across the table at her.

"It's... fine. I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay," she says, a little more harshly than necessary.

Emily looks a little taken aback, but, always the courteous host, replies that of course that's all right.

A somewhat awkward silence descends upon the table, interrupted only by forks idly pushing escargot across their respective plates. Rory has successfully squashed the few easy topics of conversation this particular group of people share, and even Emily is coming up empty.

Everyone jumps a little when Rory's cell phone goes off a moment later, Rory included. But she checks the screen and starts to get up- "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

"Rory! We're in the middle of dinner!" Emily exclaims.

"It's my publisher. I won't be long, Grandma, I promise." She's already halfway out the room, clearly undeterred by her grandmother's protests.

But once in the hallway, she silences the phone without hesitation. She had no intention of answering- she just needed to get out of that dining room for a minute. She heads for the one room in the Gilmore house that she's ever felt truly at ease in and breathes a sigh of relief as she pushes open the heavy door.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Emily, Richard, and Jess are still seated at the dinner table, attempting to ignore the fact that Rory has seemingly disappeared. Emily, for her part, is having flashbacks to Lorelai's past escapes through bathroom windows and out bedroom balconies...

"Really, does one conversation take that long?" She finally proclaims.

"Well, Emily, this is the risk you take when you choose to serve escargot for dinner. I'm surprised we've all stayed for as long as we have."

Jess tries to hide a smile at Richard's reply. In another world, Jess and Richard would've gotten along so well. For a moment, he's almost jealous of Rory's luck in having him as a grandfather. But that's neither here nor there, as they say.

"I'll go check on her," Jess offers, "The meal was delicious, Emily, but I think I'm about done anyway." He doesn't miss the opportunity to exchange an ironic look with Richard- Really? Delicious?- and then he too is slipping out of the room.

He finds his way to the Gilmore library, and, a moment later, to Rory herself. She's sitting on one of the small sofas with a book in her lap, hands resting protectively over the leatherbound cover. The room smells of dust and quiet.

It's silent for a moment; then she speaks without turning, "It's a first edition. I told Grandpa that it was my favorite once, and he took it from me and told me it was mine. He even wrote my name inside the front cover, which of course I thought was blasphemous- I mentioned it was a first edition, right?" She's smiling slightly and suddenly so calm and well... seemingly _normal_ that Jess isn't sure how to respond.

He comes to stand by her and takes a peek at the title- _The Secret Garden_. He's not surprised, really; it fits with the picture in his mind of ten year old Rory Gilmore, falling in love with Mary and Colin and Dickon; seeking out her own secret gardens in the backyards of Stars Hollow.

He wonders if she'll ever get back to that place.

"Writing in a first edition... if that's not love, I don't know what is." Jess returns, taking the armchair next to Rory.

She turns to face him abruptly, hands still on the coveted tome, "So did you prove your point? Accomplish whatever it was you were trying to do tonight?"

He shrugs slightly, "Not sure yet."

"And what's next? Confront the Gilmore elders with the 'sad truth about Rory'; recruit them to the rescue mission?"

Jess is quiet for a minute, contemplating the best way to approach this. He wishes she'd just chose a mood and stick with it; all this back and forth just makes everything harder.

"If they wanted to see it, they would've already."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just... Rory, they already lost one of you, they last thing they're going to do is admit to losing you both."

Her expression turns equal parts bitter and troubled. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He sighs, "Yeah. Sure. In some ways." He suddenly feels as tired as she's always looking. "Look, maybe this was a bad idea. I'm sorry if I crossed a line coming here tonight... I'm gonna go."

As he's standing to leave, she reaches out for his hand. He looks down, surprised, and sees her expression wavering, perhaps at the verge of a turning point.

And then she's standing in front of him, and all she can think is _chocolate brown eyes_, and she finds herself focusing in on his lips; moving magnetically closer...

But it's wrong, and Jess knows that, even if Rory doesn't, and he stops her before things get complicated. Well, more complicated than they already are, anyway.

He's stepping back, letting go of her hands, eyebrows drawn together and sadness- and does she sense pity?- in the lines of his face.

She closes her eyes for a second- god, so _stupid_, she thinks- than tries to pull it together. She offers him a smile- strained and without any real heart, unfortunately- and tells him one more time, "Don't worry about me, Jess. I'm fine."

He just nods his head. "Sure. I'll... I'll call you later, okay?"

Maybe she senses his weariness and desire to withdraw; maybe something's shifted and she's finally coming around- whatever the reason, she calls out faintly to his retreating form,

"Okay."

* * *

A/N: I am obviously TERRIBLE about updates (sorry!)... but thanks to everyone who's still reading, and just know that I fully intend to finish this. It just might take a while... All my love, -Z


	6. Chapter 6

"Em, these are amazing."

"Really? You don't think they're too... cliché?" Emma glances up at Jess's face, trying to ascertain truth or gentle dishonesty there. He barely notices, though, as he's engrossed in the watercolor paintings spread out before him on the coffee table.

"Actually I think that's why they work."

"Gee, thanks," she says sarcastically, then adds a little uncertainly, "Jess if you didn't like them, you'd tell me up front, right?"

"I don't know, would I end up sleeping on the couch?" He watches her face fall just a tiny bit, then adds, "Emma- I'm joking. When I say I like them, I mean it. They're... compelling. At first glance, they do look cliché- the birds and flowers theme. But after about thirty seconds, you start seeing so much more," Jess's gaze turns speculative as he analyzes the pink-orange, grey-black piece in front of him. "It's like suddenly you can't _not_ see something there beneath the surface. It eludes to a... a more universal truth, I think is the best way I can put it." Staring down at the piece, the blur of background colors and intricate patterned details start to come to the forefront, until he almost doesn't notice the hummingbird in the corner at all.

Emma just stares for a second from her seat next to him on the couch, then shakes her head slightly and starts grinning. "That's some seriously high praise, Jess... I'd say your biased, because we're romantically involved," this part said with an insinuating look, earning a short laugh from Jess, "but what surprises me even more is I think you mean it."

"The gallery's going to love it. The other artists however... well let's just say you should probably watch your back. I hear jealous creative-types can get pretty violent. Have you seen _Black Swan_?"

This gets him an outright laugh. She snuggles into his side and whispers into his ear, "You're wonderful, you know that?"

It's one of those times that Jess wonders how he got so lucky. His life lined up pretty well- the job he loves, the city that never fails to surprise him, and, more recently, the gentle, caring soul who actually fell for _him_, of all people. A chaste kiss on his cheek brings him out of his musings.

"You're coming to the opening, right? I have this deathly fear that I'm going to be surrounded by my artwork and all these people, but I won't know a single face among them."

"Well, you'll know one. And I think Matt said he's coming, too. Crazy kid still has a crush on you, if I'm not mistaken."

"He's sweet. Deluded, but sweet," Emma pauses for a second, then adds, "You should bring Rory."

Without realizing it, Jess's posture changes and he loses a bit of his earlier levity. Leaning forward he says, "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure I'm going to see her again. It's been... difficult with her."

Emma moves to mirror his position, leaning her elbows against her knees. "You knew she wasn't going to be... well, receptive, right?"

"Yes, I knew that. I just... it's been more than a month, Em, and I'm not making any headway. I wonder if I'm doing more damage than good. Maybe it would be best if I just slipped out of her life again."

"Jess, you can't just abandon her. That's _exactly_ what everyone else has done. Of _course_ she's going to push you away, she's afraid you're going to leave, too. If you stop trying now, you will without a doubt hurt her even more permanently." She's getting worked up at this point, and her voice shakes a little as she adds, "You shouldn't have started this if you were just going to bail when it got complicated."

Jess, for his part, is caught off guard by her sudden intense emotions. Surprised, but not completely confused, given what he knows of her own history of loss. He's quiet for a moment, processing what she's said.

"I'm not trying to bail. And I'm not ready to give up on her yet... it's just, I don't always know how to approach her. What else can I do to get through to her? I'm kind of out of ideas at this point."

They're both quiet for a moment. Jess breaks the silence by knocking his knee gently against hers and saying softly, "I didn't mean to upset you."

She knocks back and gives him a small smile. "I know. The whole things just feels really familiar, and I can't help but put myself in her place."

"I know." For the moment, the tension has resolved.

"How was dinner the other night? Did something happen?"

Jess sighs and leans back into the couch. Looks like it's going to be a long night.

"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. It was a very strange evening. Started with escargot and ended with her trying to kiss me. On the bright side, however, I think her grandfather genuinely likes me."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, he's surprisingly very cool- knows his literature, has a scathing sense of humor."

"No, Jess, the almost-kissing."

He pauses. Oh. Right. He'd just let that slip hadn't he? Not that he wasn't going to tell her... he had just planned to do it a little more tactfully.

"The almost-kissing... She was confused. I was there. I think something in her came unhinged for a moment. I stopped her, she regretted it, and that was pretty much it."

Emma studies his face for the second time that night. She's always trusted him, and he truly isn't the type to lie to people he cares about, but despite her best intentions, she's worried.

So she asks a few follow up questions even though she knows it's going to irritate him. Something in her can't let this drop so easily.

"So just to clarify... no actual kissing?"

"No, Emma, jeez."

"...Did you want to?"

She's looking him straight in the eye, carefully studying his reaction, so she doesn't miss the slight flick of his gaze downward and the small hesitation before he replies, "She's in a bad place right now, Emma. She doesn't know what she wants and I'm not going to let her screw things up even more. Everything about the situation was wrong."

"I know that. But you didn't answer the question, Jess. Did you want her to kiss you?"

"Emma. I'm with you. You know why I'm helping her, and you know it has nothing to do with whatever romantic history she and I had in the past. You were the one who was just telling me I should keep doing what I'm doing, remember?"

He knows he's making sense, but he still sees confusion and sadness written all over Emma's face.

"And I stand by that. It would be completely unfair to abandon her at this point... and I get what you're saying Jess, it's all very logical... But you two _did_ have a past, and from what you've told me it was never one that got any real closure. So yes, the whole situation does bother me. I just... I've never done triangles. Even ones with good intentions."

"What are you saying, Emma?"

"I don't- I don't know. That maybe... we should take some time to figure this out?"  
"What kind of time, Emma?"

"Just... some time apart. However long it takes." She makes a small, frustrated sound before continuing, "I don't want to do this, Jess. But something about it doesn't feel right, and I'm a big believer in letting things play out the way they're meant to. You and I, we're good together. But Rory... she's obviously special to you. So we just have to see which way fate takes us."

The artist in her speaking, Jess muses. "You know I don't believe in fate."

"And you know I do."

"So I have no options here? I can't drop her at this point, but I can't stay with you if I keep trying with her?"

Emma smiles, but in a way that hurts him to watch. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Jess. It's not forever, though, okay?"

"Sure." And that same tired, weary feeling from dinner the other night is back. How did things get so complicated?

* * *

She'd had to wait a very awkward twelve minutes on the sidewalk outside his apartment building, waiting for someone to walk out so she could attempt to casually and confidently walk in. The sun was too bright and Rory doesn't like being out in these sunshine-y mornings, but Jess said he'd call and then he didn't. What part of her needs to see him again, needs him to be part of her twisted life? She doesn't know, but guesses it's the same part that's compelling her to pretend to be a resident here so she can get through the main door.

So it's up the two flights of stairs; a short pause outside the mailboxes looking for the one marked Mariano, directing her to the corresponding numbered door. She loiters in the hallway, unsure if she's ready to knock.

She's still building up her resolve when a woman rounds the corner, carrying a box. She stops short when she sees Rory and puts the box down almost instinctively.

"You're Rory, aren't you?"

Taken aback doesn't quite cover Rory's reaction. She blinks rapidly and manages to reply, "Um... yes?"

"God, I'm sorry, you must be totally confused. I'm Emma."

"Okay?"

"Emma. Jess's girlfriend- ex-girlfriend. Friend? Sorry, I just recognized you from the pictures. Jess has told me so much about you. I didn't think I'd ever actually get the chance to meet you."

She seems nice enough, but Rory's wary. "Exactly how much?" Her underlying message is clearly, _who the fuck are you?_ And she said ex-girlfriend, right? Rory had just assumed Jess was single. It dawns on her that she's been assuming more than that: assuming that he isn't a real person; assuming that he hasn't been going on living his own separate, normal life without her...

Emma smiles nervously- and pityingly?- and tries again, "Look, I know this is weird. And don't be mad at Jess; we've been together for over a year, and you know he makes it a point to be open with the people he cares about. He's just told me what you're going through, and that it's been really difficult."

Jess? Open with the people he cares about? Rory stays silent and chooses to simply watch the woman across from her.

So Emma continues. She's starting to see what Jess meant about Rory not making things easy. "He's been worried about you. I know it's none of my business, but you should know I lost my father when I was pretty young. I wish I'd had someone like Jess in my life at the time," Rory starts to say something, but Emma plows on, "And I know you're angry, and hurt, and scared, or at least I was, but just be careful how hard you push him. He's stubborn as hell, but eventually even he will give up and let you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you have no idea what you're talking about. I'm sorry for whatever you went through, but you and I are not the same person and we're not going to bond and heal over any presumed 'shared experiences' we've had. And I sure as hell don't need your advice on Jess."

Emma nods. She's smart enough to know a lost cause when she sees own. She isn't the person Rory needs right now. Maybe someday, but not right now. "Okay. I didn't mean to overstep my bounds... Just go easy on him. He's had a rough couple days."

Rory just stares icily. She's officially checked out of this conversation.

Emma picks up her box and makes her way past the hostile girl glowering at her. With one final pause on her way out she tells her, "He's not home. But there's a key under the mat if you're interested in waiting."

* * *

A/N: I've been majorly stuck trying to write this chapter, and tonight I decided to just finish the damn thing and post. I realized I LOVE writing the big, tense, emotional scenes, and I can picture those so cleary in my head, but I have trouble writing the stuff that actually moves the plot forward (ie this chapter). I think that's why I'm so much more comfortable writing one-shots than I am writing multi-chapters. But I'm going to persevere! There are days I look over this story and cringe at how it reads, not gonna lie, but maybe that's just part of the process. Anyway. As usual, no promises on updates, but I've got a slightly different approach to writing in mind, and it might (fingers crossed) yield quicker results. Thanks for sticking with me. :) -Z


	7. Chapter 7

She feels like an imposter, snooping through an apartment that isn't her own. Turning the key in the lock and pretending for a second that she could ever share a home with a dark-haired boy who cares for her, she felt more than just fake. Ashamed. Weak. Needy.

But she had proceeded through the entryway regardless, stopping at the threshold of the living room to take it in. Couch, bookshelves, paintings on the wall. Fireplace, mantle- pictures. Jess was a photograph kind of person now? Yup, he's definitely changed in the intervening years. Or maybe it was Emma's influence. Surely it was Emma who set the self-timer on that one, the up-close shot of him laughing and her grinning right back at him? Were there times he'd looked at her like that? She can't remember now. But there must have been, right?

All these pictures, even one of him and Liz and Luke; it makes her realize that he's built a life for himself. A life that she's now interrupting. No, more than interrupting: upheaving. What had Emma said? That it'd been a hard couple days for Jess? Ex-girlfriend?

With a sickening drop in her stomach, Rory realizes that she is almost without a doubt the cause of that breakup. Suddenly the apartment around her doesn't seem inviting at all; rather, the space feels tight and accusing and she thinks she might be hyperventilating a little. What right does she have to intrude in his life and treat him like shit and throw glasses at his head? Feeling guilty and miserable and too full of anxious energy, she starts to panic. She can't possibly sit and wait for him; she can't possibly show her face around him after all this. So she turns coat and runs, in typical Rory fashion, barely remembering to lock the door behind her on her way out. 

* * *

"Did you ever wonder why Van Gogh committed suicide?"

Christ. He'd seriously considered silencing the call when "Rory" had flashed on the screen, annoyingly bright in the darkness of his apartment. Why was he incapable of ever just ignoring this girl? He'd had a rough day, and the last thing he wanted to do was entertain her drunken ramblings.

But as usual, this wasn't about him, was it?

"Or Sylvia Plath. Or even your Hemmingway. Why all the waste? Does great art really hurt that much? Or is it real life that does the hurting, and it's all too much to bear?"

Jesus. Apparently she'd drunk away any semblance of literary thought; her ramblings were both pointless and ill thought out.

"…I feel like it is sometimes. Too much to bear. And I'm not even any great artist."

He has no idea how he's supposed to respond to that. He wonders if this time she's finally cracked.

"Rory," he tries to get her attention, remind her that there is, in fact, someone else on the other end of this conversation.

A lot of good that does. She just keeps going, abruptly changing course.

"She's beautiful, Jess. Nice, too. Like a kindergarten teacher. Like Mrs. Morgan, she was always my favorite, you know. You know she tried to be nice to me? I'm a fucking wreck and I was so rude but she smiled at me and told me about her dad and told me to be nice to you. That pushing too hard means people eventually get pushed." Here she pauses, then goes on, "She told me you broke up. Her eyes looked sad but I didn't even care."

Jess scrambles to keep up. Had she run into Emma? When could that have even happened? Just thinking about it and picturing her in a hallway with a box, Jess feels a raw ache somewhere beneath his ribcage. Fresh wounds, irritated too soon. If he's not careful, he thinks, those'll leave a mark.

"And then I saw the pictures. I had no idea, Jess. No idea you had this whole life and maybe some share of happiness and you looked _happy_, Jess. Do you remember forever ago? When it was us? Were you happy then, too? Did you ever look at me the way you were looking at her? Before you got tired of it and tired of Stars Hollow and tired of me? Before you left?"

This conversation is going nowhere, but he feels powerless to stop it. He's never been the captain of this ship, and it's been off course for so long now he thinks it'd be impossible to find its way back again anyhow.

"I loved graduation, Jess, I loved the speech and my mom and the car and the party, but when I tried to fall asleep that night all I ended up doing was crying. Picturing you in a phone booth, silent, sad, and I think it was true. I think I really loved you but I still don't know what any of that means. Do you ever-"

There's a shuffle and the sound of the receiver changing hands, then an annoyed but sober voice demanding, "Come get your girlfriend before she passes out on my bar, or worse, has a fuckin' breakdown, would you? She's scaring the other customers."

Godammit. He has the sudden urge to punch his fist through a wall, pissed that she can just unload on him like that; pissed that he lost Emma, and pissed that he's now writing down an address and grabbing his coat and keys.

For the hundredth time, he asks himself if she's worth it.

Fuck if he knows. 

* * *

A/N: Aaaand I'm back! Can't believe it's been six months; "sorry" doesn't seem to begin to cover it. I hope someone somewhere is still bothering to read this! I've actually got the next chapter mostly written, and if I do say so myself, it's pretty squee-worthy. Hah. I'm trying to stay a chapter ahead before posting, in the hopes that that will motivate me to keep writing. Because really. Six months is way too long! Love, Z. :)


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'd originally intended to wait at least a week before posting this, but I couldn't hold out any longer. I had way too much fun writing this, and I hope you have as much fun reading it! The rating's been bumped to M, for obvious reasons, I think. And please, please, please review! I don't usually ask that, but for whatever reason, I really feel like I could some of those right now. Enjoy! -Z

* * *

He doesn't say a word as he walks in and downs her last drink; grabs her meager belongings (cell phone, keys, clutch); and pays her tab. He doesn't tell her get in the car; doesn't open her door for her; barely even looks at her to acknowledge that she is, in fact, following him.

He doesn't glance at her once on the drive back to his apartment. His eyes stare stonily ahead and his silence and the recklessness with which he's driving are enough to sober her up a small measure. The only sound that breaks the shared, intimate space of his dark car interior is that of Jess shifting gears slightly more violently that necessary.

She has trouble keeping up with him from the parking lot to the building entrance; the stairs pose a challenge of a slightly different nature; and she's out of breath and off-balance by the time they reach the front door. She suspects that has more to do with the obvious anger Jess is radiating than from anything related to her blood alcohol level. He's jabbing the appropriate key into the lock when Rory sways a little too far, and his eyes meet hers briefly as he reaches a hand out to steady her. She takes that as a small act of good faith, threadbare as it may be.

He crosses the threshold quickly, not bothering to assure that she's following. Not like she has anywhere else to go at this point.

Her eyes are stinging at his silent treatment and she doesn't quite know whether she's angry, hurt, or just miserable with regret and guilt and sorrow.

Probably somewhere in between. That's usually where she lives these days, isn't it?

Still, she follows his dark wake into the kitchen where he's filling a glass of water at the sink, his back to her.

"Look… I'm-"

"Don't." His one word reply is the first thing he's uttered since he first collected her.

"Jess-" she tries again, pushing off of the counter she's been leaning on and taking a step toward him.

"Don't fucking start with me, Rory, I swear to god I'm not in the mood."

"Will you please just turn around?" she pleads, almost reaching a hand out to touch him.

He actually grants her request, whirling on her and facing her with the full force of his anger. "What do you want from me, Rory? You really want to get into this right now? It's three a.m., you're past drunk, I'm tired, I've had a shitty day, and honestly?" He's leaned aggressively toward her, his voice escalating as he lets his temper go unchecked, "You're the _last_ thing I want to be dealing with right now. I have better things to do with my time than babysit you and make sure you don't choke on your own vomit when you black out for the night."

She slaps him. Once, hard across the face; she, suddenly sober, and he, frozen still. Their eyes lock and the abrupt silence after the roar of his tirade is truly deafening.

His eyes flash, and he opens his mouth to start again, but Rory's quicker this time. Her hands bring his head down to hers as she presses her body flush against his and slants her lips against his own. He stumbles back a step into the sink, and she follows his momentum, deepening the kiss and using his shock against him. His hands instinctively snake their way around her waist, pulling her hips further forward against his pelvis. He can't see straight through his anger and he's tired of thinking, of being rational, of always trying to be the responsible one.

He turns them around and lifts her hips so she's perched on the counter, never breaking contact between their lips. She wraps her legs around his waist and the blood pounding in his ears gets louder. Oxygen-deprived and lust-filled, his hands wander up toward her breasts. They break for air, both of them panting, as his fingernails scrape across her nipples through the fabric of her top. She cries out and the sudden sound is enough to bring him up short.

He pries her legs from around him and steps back, despite her protests. Fuck, how did things get so out of control?

"We can't," he manages, his voice husky and low. He clears his throat. "We can't do this."

To hell with can't, Rory thinks. She's been deprived too long, been lifeless even longer, and the feel of Jess pressing hard against her jeans and evidence of his clear arousal is the first thing that's made her feel even close to alive in a long time. She thinks she needs this, consequences be damned.

So she pulls her top over her head, revealing a red lace bra framing breasts he hasn't seen since they were seventeen. She hops off the counter and closes the distance between them once again, pushing him down into a kitchen chair.

He lets himself get caught up in another hurricane of a kiss, losing his mind in the sensation of being straddled by this broken siren of a woman.

But he knows better, and knows how much this will mess things up, and know that yes, she really _is _broken, and maybe he is a little bit, too. So he stops her again, this time with hands pressed firmly against her shoulders, creating a distance that she's been trying so badly to erase.

"Stop, Rory."

Brazen, undeterred eyes meet his. "Why?"

He gives a short laugh. This is so beyond fucked up; it feels like some surreal version of his life and he's having trouble keeping up. "I don't want to do this," is all he can coherently piece together.

"Really?" She grinds her hips against his crotch as she almost purrs, "Because it feels to me like you do."

If his arousal wasn't already completely out of control, it is now. Holy _fuck_.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and it takes all he has not to move his own hips against hers and increase the friction as she continues to torture him; every ounce of self-control not to rip off the rest of her clothes and bury himself inside of her and fuck her, hard.

But she's unbuttoning his pants and he knows if her hand touches his dick it's over; he'll be too far gone to stop anything, and if he ever wants a chance to be with her in any semblance of a real relationship (and yeah, he admits to himself, he does still wish for that, even as off-base and broken as she is), then this can_not _happen.

Which is why he shoves her off of him, using more force than he probably should have, and stands, snarling at her, "Godammit Rory, I am NOT gonna fuck you tonight!"

Her mouth falls open ever so slightly, and she's standing there shirtless, humiliated and confused. Tears prick her eyes and she forgets how to breathe.

What the fuck was she thinking? She clumsily replaces her shirt and tries not to hyperventilate or let her tears spill over, avoiding his eyes and grabbing her keys off the table as she brushes past him.

"I have to go."

She makes it down the hallway and to the elevator before he catches up with her, having needed a frustrated moment of his own to try and collect himself. Her hands are shaking as she punches the down arrow repeatedly, willing the elevator to hurry up, or for the hallway to just swallow her up whole.

No such luck. He's beside her in an instant, but not bringing his eyes up to look directly at her, she notices.

"You can't drive home," he says quietly.

"Fuck you, Jess."

"Rory," he sighs. "I'm not going to let you drive home. You're drunk."

She laughs derisively. "Pretty sure that… _spectacle_… in there just sobered me up."

"Look, I know you're upset-"

"Upset? _Upset_?" She hurls the word back at him, dripping disbelief. "You have no _idea_ how 'upset' I am," she pauses for breath, then throws every single one of the barricades she's built up around herself out the window. "I am _tired_, and I'm angry, and I'm ashamed. God, look at me. I'm pathetic, and falling apart, and so miserably un_happy_. My life has fallen down around me and I haven't even _tried_ to pick it up again." She stops to close her eyes against tears that refuse to be held in any longer, and her breath hitches as she goes on, "I can't get out of bed some mornings for fear of facing the daylight, and when night finally rolls around, I'm _terrified_ that the nightmares will crush me whole."

Her whole body is shaking as she continues, "I'm a mess, and obviously _completely_ undesirable, and apparently it's not enough for me to fuck up my own world anymore, I have to barge in and ransack yours, too. And I care about you, and I don't want you to get hurt, but I can't seem to help _tainting_ everything I touch. I'm living a lie and when I'm not drowning out my sorrows with liquor, I'm drowning in guilt and regret and… I'm just so _angry _all the time, at everyone and everything… I can't remember what it feels like to live without this blind resentment."

She buries her face in her hands briefly before saying, strangled, "I miss her, Jess," and he doesn't know if she steps forward into him or if he's the one wrapping his arms around her but either way, she's sobbing against his chest and he's cradling her to him, his cheek against her hair and he strains to hear what she says last:

"I don't think I know how to do this alone."


End file.
